I Feel So Alone
by MKUltraMuser
Summary: Sherlock is hurting. John wants to help him, to show him he's loved. One-Shot.


It's a nice day in London. Bright sun, blue skies, minimal clouds. Yeah - unusual weather for the winter, but no-one's complaining. Sherlock isn't. I hear nothing about how this weather defies the laws of the Earth's movements and seasons or something like that. But then again he's not saying much at all. And it's got me worried. He sits in his armchair, staring blankly at the wall opposite, not speaking, not eating, well, not doing anything really. His face is expressionless and the most emotion I get is the occasional frown for no reason. He's been like this for three days. He's not moved. I don't think he even sleeps. But on the fourth day, I've had enough. I decide to snap him out of it.

I step in front of him and kneel down between his legs, placing my hands on his clenched fists on the arm of the chair. "Sherlock?" No response. I sigh. He's not even looking at me. "Sherlock," I say louder, begging him to acknowledge me. Nothing. I frown in concern and move both my hands to the side of his face and turn his head towards me. "Look at me! Please. I need to see you!" Finally Sherlock makes eye contact with me and I sigh in relief. Hesitantly, I lean forward and press my forehead to his. I maintain eye contact. Sherlock does nothing to keep me away from him. He just stares with no emotion. "What's the matter, Sherlock? Tell me. I want to help." My hands move to the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles, while my forehead remains pressed to his.

Minutes pass before Sherlock whimpers quietly and closes his eyes. A single tear developed from his right eye and it shocked me. I have never seen Sherlock cry before. He must be in so much distress about something. "Help me John," he whispers out almost inaudibly, his voice hoarse and weak. More tears run down his face and I rub them away with the pads of both my thumbs. He is sobbing heavily and I get up, pull him with me and take him to the sofa. We sit and I cradle Sherlock close to me. His head is on my chest, while I rest my face in his soft curls.

"It's alright. Ssssh it's alright, I'm here," I murmur comfortingly as Sherlock sobs uncontrollably into my jumper. I rub his back and kiss his hair, waiting patiently for his sobs to subside. But seconds later he moans out something that will haunt me forever.

"I want to die. God help me John, I want to die."

I breathe in a gasp of shock and tighten my hold on him. "Why on earth would you want that Sherlock?" He looks up from my jumper, scared and childlike. I meet his gaze with my own tearful eyes and shake my head.

"I don't…fit here, John. I'm not liked and sometimes I feel so alone. It hurts and I know it shouldn't. I know I shouldn't care. I'm scared of who I am. _It HURTS John!" _He screams out the last sentence, startling me and I loosen my hold. He jumps off the sofa out of my arms and collapses on his knees looking into the fireplace, with no fire burning. He bows his head and trembles. He grabs the letter opener from the side of the fireplace and holds it against his wrist. "I am so alone."

"No!" I yell. He can't do this. "You can't leave me! Please Sherlock!" This makes Sherlock look sharply at me, gaping with wide hopeful eyes, but he says nothing. I walk slowly towards him, hands up in front of me, ready to stop Sherlock from suddenly hurting himself. "Sherlock, listen. You can't do this. I need you. Have you thought about how much I care for you? Have you thought about how much this would hurt me? Where you go, I follow. You die, I die. Please think about this."

Sherlock stares for a moment longer before his brow furrows in confusion. "You care about me?" I keep eye contact with him and give him my most sincere look. "Yes. Yes I do. No…it's more than that." I get down on my knees in front of him and lean forward. I'm still about 2 metres away from him. "I…I love you Sherlock. Believe me when I say it. I do. I adore you! So please don't do this. Don't leave me alone." Sherlock's eyes widen and he drops the letter opener in shock. "I don't believe you. I can't. No-one loves me. I'm hated. You must hate me for being so weak. You cannot love me!"

I shake my head, pleading for the broken man to listen. "Sherlock! Listen to me." Sherlock turns away, shaking his head, picking up the letter opener again and looking more determined to end his life. _No! _"Sherlock!" I move forward quickly, grabbing his hand and the offending object, wrenching it out of his grip. I throw it into the corner of the room, not losing eye contact with him. I lean forward and mash my lips to his, placing my hands on either side of his face, rubbing his beautiful cheekbones. Sherlock widens his eyes and stiffens. But I stay put, keeping in contact with his lips, pleading silently for him to reciprocate. Eventually, his hands move slowly up my sides, under my jumper, holding me in place, while his lips began to move against mine. He pushes more forcefully so I fall backwards, colliding with the floor with a grunt of surprise. Sherlock lies on top of me, kissing tenderly and romantically. His tongue penetrates my mouth and explores. Our tongues tangle in a dance of passion and we both moan at the beautiful sensation.

After five minutes, I break the kiss and whisper to him, "Now do you believe me? Do you know that I love you?" Sherlock nuzzles his face into my neck and I can feel him smile. "Yes I do. And I return the sentiment." I laugh at his choice of words and pull his head back up, meeting our lips again.

That night, I made sure Sherlock felt as much love as he deserves, which is all the love in the world.

_I love you, Sherlock._


End file.
